


A Teaching Moment

by 99_Girl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Medical Procedures, Post-Canon, Teaching, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99_Girl/pseuds/99_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a Tumblr prompt by goldenheadfreckledheart:<br/>"I need someone to write a Bellarke AU (or in world idk) where<br/>Bellamy gets annoyed with Clarke about something,<br/>so later under his breath, he's like "Fucking Clarke Griffin"<br/>And then Raven or Octavia or someone is like,<br/>"Bellamy, you have to stop reciting your to do lists out loud."</p><p>The quote is slightly different, but not too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Teaching Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! This is my first Tumblr prompt, so I hope that you enjoy it. I had a lot of fun writing it.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Bellamy practically radiates irritation. He shifts impatiently on the balls of his feet and scrubs a hand over his face. Pinched between his other thumb and index finger is a single red grape. “This is ridiculous! Why the goddamn fucking shit does it fucking help for me to suture a stupid grape?” His colorful protests have blossomed from passive-aggressive grumbles to an uninhibited tantrum.

Clarke’s gaze is level and patient, her mouth angled to the side in amusement. “You need to learn to fine suture for when you’re in the field and I or my mother aren’t there.” She taps on the table in front of him where a curved needle waits. A sharp, metallic echo resounds off the walls. “Come on, it’s not that hard.”

They’re standing in the med bay, late in the evening. The only other person there is Raven, doing her hip exercises. Bellamy would feel even more self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that she’s wearing headphones: Jasper loaned her his mp3 player so she has something to listen to during PT.

“My fingers are too big.” He demonstrates by holding the grape about an inch from Clarke’s face. “And I can just have someone else do it for me. They’re all learning, right?”

Clarke rolls her eyes as dramatically as she can without toppling backwards. “Yes, they’re all learning, but if you’re alone or one of _them_ needs help, you have to be able to do this. Plus, that’s the most massive grape I’ve ever seen. Do this fast before smaller fruits start orbiting it.” She pushes against his wrist. “Now, get out of my face and do it.” As she pulls away, her fingers brush the skin on the underside of his arm. He shivers and drops the grape.

“Oops! Sterility compromised! Can’t sew it up, could get infected.” He turns and starts to walk away.

Clarke grabs the back of his shirt and yanks. “Come on, Bell. You can do this.”

He starts a bit at her using his nickname, but tries to play it cool-- or tepid, at least. He breathes heavily, “But it's haaaaaard.” Maybe she’ll take pity on him if he acts pathetic.

“So, you're a bottle of 23-year-old vintage? Impressive.” One eyebrow raised, she fixes him with a look of incredulity.

“Okay. That was... solid. But this is embarrassing”. Bellamy ruffles his hair and picks up the needle. Reaching for a spool of medical thread, he watches her through the corner of his eye. She’s grinning and propped on her elbows. Her shirt dips low and he looks away quickly to avoid staring at her cleavage.

Her laugh is rich and throaty, and spirals sweetly through his lower stomach and thighs. “Bell, the only other person here is Raven, and she’s not paying attention.” He glances over his shoulder to be sure. She’s facing the other direction and he can hear a thin strain of music escape her earbuds. “Our friends learned earlier this afternoon.”

Bellamy pauses after tying together the thread’s ends. “Yeah, what the hell? Why didn’t you have me come in with the other classes?”

Clarke inspects the end of his thread loop, giving it a tug to see if the knot is tight. “This looks good.” Her smile is infectious and he finds himself returning one in tandem. “And, honestly, I decided to keep you separate because I knew you’d be a ridiculous brat.”

He scoffs, “You’re talking nonsense.”

“Yes, you're a vision of dignity.”

Bellamy chuckles, “This is my process, Princess. You need to accommodate my learning style.”

Clarke bumps his arm with the side of her fist. “That is _literally_ what I’m doing at this very moment. Now, let’s do this.”

Groaning, “Fine, but I reserve the right to complain.”

“To thine own self, be true.”

Sticking his tongue out, he scrunches his face and begins to work. It takes more pressure than he was expecting to pierce the skin and a couple stitches in the needle slips and stabs his thumb. “ _Fuck_!” A thick drop of blood forms on the pad and Bellamy grumbles.

Seconds later, Clarke returns from a nearby cart with a bandage. Pointing to his thumb, “Suck on it,” she instructs.

He deadpans, “No. Gross.”

Exasperatedly, “That needle is sharp and the puncture is probably deep. It’ll stop bleeding faster if you suck on it. Otherwise you’ll seep through this bandage and need another and that’s just a waste.”

He shakes his head assertively. “Nope. I’ve had a lot of injur-”

Bellamy nearly chokes on a shot of air as Clarke grabs his hand and puts his thumb in her mouth. Sucking gently, she lavs her tongue over the wound, both of her small hands gripping his much larger one. Where their skin meets, a rosy blush blooms and flourishes throughout his body. Watching her closely, lips parted, he’s entranced; her eyes meet his through her lashes. After at least a minute, she releases him and swipes the area with an alcohol wipe before covering it with a small bandage.

He clears his throat and intones, “Um- thank you.” He can’t stop staring at her mouth. Her lower lip plumps and colors a deeper pink from friction against his skin.

Clarke smiles inscrutably and turns back to the table. “Okay, so you're not assertive enough, and they need to be closer. As close as physically possible.”

Still rooted where he stands, Bellamy manages, “What do you want from me?” Hope that she’ll comprehend the dual meaning of his question sprouts in his chest.

Over her shoulder, Clarke responds, “Come stand behind me and I’ll show you.” She reaches back to grasp his hand and pull him forward until he’s  pressed against her back, his hands against the table and flanking her. He tenses. She relaxes. “This way you can see what I want.” Slender, deft fingers whisk back and forth, producing tidy stitches along a straight line, all the way around the grape’s circumference. She laughs musically and leans back against his chest.

Teasingly, “See? Fine sutures as in small and exact, not as in _I guess that’s good enough_.”

Desperate to regain some composure, Bellamy snarks, “Very clever.” This effort is immediately negated when she spins in place to face him. Slowly, Clarke scans her eyes over his chest, runs her tongue over one of her canines. Fisting her hand in his shirt front, she reels him in until his hips are flush against hers and whispers in his ear, “Just get them closer and we’ll go from there.” Jaw ticking, Bellamy wavers back slightly. His eyes close involuntarily and he’s grateful she can’t see his face.

When he opens his eyes again, Clarke’s ducking beneath his arm and heading towards the door. Turning, she continues walking backwards, grin sly, hips swaying a bit more than usual.

“Be confident. You've got a good, firm touch, Bell,” she calls across the room. “Keep practicing. I need some air.” She waves at Raven, turns, and strides down the hall tossing the grape and catching it.

Bellamy braces his hands on the table and hangs his head, gulping measured breaths to slow his racing heart and sweep away hazy, consuming, debilitating thoughts of his co-leader. Groaning lowly, he rasps, “Fucking Clarke Griffin.”

From near the door, he hears Raven drawl, “I don’t need to hear your bucket list, Blake.”

Bellamy turns to glare at her as she leaves the room. Without looking back Raven raises a hand and high-fives herself.

 


End file.
